Six years have passed in the blink of an eye, and the time has arrived in the 1940s. Tashi and Gangzhu brought the mules and horses back from northern Tibet to collect goods, and they were slowly marching towards Lhasa. The strange buzzing sound in the sky became louder and louder, deafening. The pack team stopped and watched as an American C-47 transport plane roared over, dragging a long trail of smoke.
Gangzhu turned pale with panic and shouted: "Amola, what is in the sky?"
The waiters scattered in all directions, exclaiming: "Monsters, demons. Heavenly Bodhisattva, Heavenly Bodhisattva!" Everyone was so frightened that they knelt on the ground, prayed to the sky, and muttered words. The plane roared over their heads, its engines on fire. Tashi shouted to everyone: "Don't panic, don't panic, this is a plane, a plane!"
The plane dragged long smoke behind the mountain in the distance. With a loud explosion, a column of black smoke rose from behind the mountain. Gangzhu regained his composure and asked, "Is this a plane? Why did it fly here?"
"It should be an American plane. I heard from the opera box that Burma has fallen, and the Burma Road from the mainland to overseas has been cut off by the Japanese. The urgently needed goods in the country cannot be transported on the ground, so they are transported from the sky. "Zhaxi said while looking out.
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